


Thanks for the chance (to be with you)

by tease



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, IM DYING THANKS EP 7, M/M, Pining, Slow Build, VictUuri, lets see how far i can take this, lots of pining, viktuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tease/pseuds/tease
Summary: Years of happiness with Yuuri slips through his fingers in an accident that's almost his making but, instead of losing it all, fate serves Viktor one more chance, sending him years into the past.  Long before Viktor Nikiforov is a well known name and Yuuri's entrance into the professional scene. (Or Viktor tries his very best to reach Yuuri before they're meant to meet.)





	

* * *

 

 

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls from the doorway, stooped down to reach for his everyday shoes placed perfectly flush against Yuuri’s pair.  Mikachin’s tail slaps against his calf as the puppy waits for him as patiently as any good puppy: with butt wiggling and tongue hanging out of her adorable mouth.  She tries to tug at his shoe when he lifts to put it on and it prompts a lift at the corner of his lips.  He hasn’t trained her as well as Makkachin yet, she’s too young and he’s too distracted by the way Yuuri cradles the dog whenever he’s relaxing.  He taps Mikachin on the nose, stopping her just enough for him to shove his feet in his shoes, fixing the ankle parts in a hurry lest she decides to go for his shoe again.  “Yuuri!  We’re going out now!”

 

“Stay safe!”  Yuuri’s muffled voice drifts from the kitchen, followed by the clunking of some pots and pans as he searches for supplies to use for their lunch. 

 

The pout forms automatically on Viktor’s lips, “no goodbye kiss?”

 

Yuuri’s laugh carries through the house, husky with amusement and from their afternoon nap. “You’re coming back in a few, stop being a baby.”

 

“ _Yuuri!_ ”  He places as much pleading as he’s ever had in his husband’s name, just as he used to do before they’d even known of each other’s feelings.  He knows Yuuri is very weak against that tone, always folds with Viktor’s requests despite how ridiculous they sometimes are.  And it works, somewhat, when Yuuri appears, leans on the counter with his hip and aims an effusive smile at Viktor, a pot securely held in his right hand.

 

“The faster you go out, the faster you come back.”

 

“Mikachin, daddy doesn’t love me anymore,” Viktor says in a voice loud enough for Yuuri to hear, lifting the puppy’s gently into a hug as he frowns pathetically into her curly blond fur.  She whines and licks at the side of his face, and he hears Yuuri giggle before metal meets stone and soft footfalls approach him, bringing with it warmth that spreads from his chest to the tips of his fingertips and toes.

 

“Such a baby,” arms as familiar as his own envelops Viktor as Yuuri hugs him from the side, tendrils of his dark hair tickling Viktor’s cheek as the shorter man curls around him. 

 

And just like years ago, the first time Yuuri hugged him with not fright, not uncertainty, but unadultered love and confidence borne of years of effort, Viktor’s heart lurches, rattles in his chest while his lungs feel as if they’re burning.

 

“Come on,” One of Yuuri’s finger curls around Viktor’s chin, draws Viktor’s head towards himself before a single kiss lands on Viktor’s lips.  A chaste brush of plush soft skin against equally soft skin, so brief yet it gets that much harder for Viktor to take in air.

 

Viktor opens his eyes, not even knowing when he’d closed them, and is met with Yuuri’s glowing face, eyes shining past the lights surrounding them.  Face serene like the day he’d proposed to an unsuspecting Viktor amidst the flashing cameras, hands shaking minutely and yet with an expression overflowing with adoration.

 

“Is that enough?”  Yuuri asks, as if it ever is. 

 

The time between them is never enough, even now that they’re out of the grueling competitive loop of figure skating and, instead, spend their time exploring the sunsets that paint the neighborhood shades of pinks and gold or  coaching the always eager next generation.  The touches Yuuri initiates as precious as the purest diamond that Viktor has always _always_ thought embodies the man he’s pledged his life to then and forever.

 

Viktor’s heart squeezes as he withdraws an arm from Mikachin to run his fingers against the gentle slope of Yuuri’s jaw, sending Yuuri’s eyelids fluttering for a blink, before he turns to grasp Viktor’s hand within his own and dropping another kiss on the palm.

 

This man he’d almost missed, if not for a single video uploaded without permission.

 

He reminds himself to send presents to the triplets on the next holiday, whatever it is.

 

They bask in the moment, content in the silence, standing close enough to share body heat and feel the synchronized beatings of their heart, thumping just as strongly as the bond that’s kept them together, until a whine pierces through their trance.

 

Mikachin starts wiggling in Viktor’s grasp and Yuuri chuckles, taking a hold of their puppy’s face to drop a delicate peck on her nose, before pulling a step away with a final squeeze at Viktor’s bicep.

 

Clicking his tongue in disappointment, Viktor reaches for the leather leash hanging on the key rack, hooking it onto Mikachin’s collar as she barks, happy to finally be leaving.  He aims a piteous glance at Yuuri, willing him to go along in their walk, if only to continue the sappy mood Viktor’s fallen into, but this time it’s futile.

 

“Come back safe.” Yuuri beams at him like they’re young lovers on their honeymoon phase rather than thirty, almost forty, year olds just a week past their tenth anniversary.

 

“Alright love,” Viktor sighs and lets Mikachan tug him to the door, which he opens reluctantly.  Turning around to close the door, he blows a kiss at Yuuri.

 

And Yuuri’s face brightens even more, standing in the middle of their doorway like an angel dressed in Viktor’s too big clothes, as he pantomimes, grasping at the flung kiss in the air before placing that fist against his chest and gently flattening it.  Soundlessly mouthing.

 

‘ _I love you_ ’.

 

 _“And I you._ ” Viktor he mouths in turn as he slowly closed the door, thanking all the gods he’s ever heard across.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Papa is so unhappy with you, Mikachin,” Viktor lightly tugs on the leash of his oblivious puppy, sighing in malcontent.  He’s not really serious, but ever since opening his eyes that morning he’s been feeling overly sappy.  He’d wanted so badly to just stay inside and curl up around Yuuri in bed or, once Yuuri had gotten antsy about lazing about, watch Yuuri putter around the kitchen trying hard not to blush at Viktor’s constant gaze.

 

Something about the perfect way sunlight’s been reflecting against Yuuri’s glasses and how, more often than not, Viktor can’t determine if he smells like Yuuri or if Yuuri smell like him, tugs at the part of his brain that demands he be sentimental.  Though he’s normally sentimental anyway, more than happy to act out the fondness he feels through every pore of his body, today is the worst he’s ever felt.  He doesn’t really know why, but he’s somewhat grateful for the feeling, if it means being showered in Yuuri’s heartfelt smiles throughout the day.

 

“Papa’s getting too soft,” Viktor sighs and Mikachin barks, much higher pitch than Makkachin’s, probably agreeing with him as she continues on her merry way, almost skipping in front of Viktor as she smells around.

 

“Yurio would probably be disgusted,” a self-deprecating chuckle escapes him, thinking of their surly friend pulling an appalled face at his current mood, just like the last time Viktor had _accidentally_ kissed Yuuri while Yuri had been at the rink with them.  It wasn’t his fault; Yuuri was way too adorable and Yuri too easy to tease.

 

And it’s in this moment, his mind lost in memories and Yuuri preparing dinner for _them_ in their _home_ that Mikachin bolts quicker than she’s ever done before, yanking the leash Viktor had loosely in his grasp.

 

“ _Mikachin!_ ” He chases her as fast as he can, weaving through the pedestrians taking a midday stroll.  Knocks plenty of shoulders in his haste to keep her in his sight, a trail of angry people in his wake as he keeps his focus on their beloved dog.  _So stupid!_ He berates himself for his complacency, too used to Makkachin’s obedience, heart thundering in his chest in fright, as she gets closer to the intersection.  “ _Mikachin stop!” Please!_

 

But she doesn’t, going straight into the crosswalk after a frightened cat until a honk spooks her to sit still right in the middle of the road.

 

And he doesn’t think, just dashes straight into oncoming traffic reaching to scoop her out of harm’s way, but a honk takes his attention away from staring at the terrified pup.

 

And moments, chaotic and unfiltered, flash before Viktor’s eyes as a sedan barrels closer.

 

Viktor’s heart stopping when Yuuri’s taken away in an ambulance after a devastating fall that knocks the other man unconscious.  Viktor’s tears making it almost impossible to see as Yuuri’s eyelids flutters open, almost buried under the bandages wound around his head.

 

Yuuri’s face after the first Grand Prix win, alight with pride and ruddy from the heat of performing.

 

The slope of Yuuri’s shoulder, glowing under the moonlight peeking through Viktor’s window curtains.

 

Yuuri’s unstoppable tears, salty on Viktor’s lips as they say farewell to Makkachin, a week after their third anniversary.

 

Viktor’s hands feeling like ice and yet his body is on fire as he skates “Stay Close to Me” for an unsuspecting Yuuri one practice night and Yuuri, without hesitation, joining him under the watchful eye of the moon.

 

Yuuri’s fingers dancing along his spine, distracted as he massages Viktor’s back.

 

Enthusiastic humming coming from his kitchen as Yuuri cooks for the first time in Viktor’s apartment, confused about the Russian packages but body moving in tune with whatever music his mind supplies.

 

Yuuri kneeling in the middle of the banquet hall of his second Grand Prix win, hands curling protectively around a modest box.

 

Yuuri’s parents sitting across them with faces more stern than Viktor has ever seen.  So stern and yet Yuuri’s face erupts in a teary smile as they are presented them both with red-tinted rice.

 

Yuuri cooing at Mikachin.

 

Yuuri’s soft snores.

 

Yuuri’s frown.

 

Yuuri’s laughter.

 

Yuuri’s blushes.

 

Yuuri’s.

 

Yuuri.

 

Yuuri.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His body jerks violently, feeling as if he’s falling from a large height, his heart in his throat, tasting bile and blood on his tongue as his heart painfully beats in his chest.  There’s a buzzing in his ears, not unlike the honks he’d heard, as his brain pounds against his skull with such passion that his vision swims a little and his thoughts feel fuzzy and jumbled.  His breathing is too fast to be of help, bordering on hyperventilating, and it fuels the panic thrumming in his veins at the thought of a hurt Mikachin and Yuuri’s face.

 

His heart constricts, thinking of the heartbreak he needs to deliver to his husband all just because of his negligence.  No amount of apologies could fix the situation, no amount of presents to replace the first pet they’d adopted together.

 

Yuuri loves-loved the puppy the moment he’d laid his eyes on it, nags-nagged Viktor constantly when he personally couldn’t take care of Mikachin but Viktor could.

 

Regret settles like ash in his mouth.

 

Perhaps he should have listened to his gut.  Follow the urge to loaf in their apartment until his mind is settled enough to pay attention to his surroundings.

 

But, he remembers, a car had been coming _his_ way before his vision had dimmed.  Barreling down the street, faster than Viktor could dodge, right in front of him and not the dog and yet here he is, on a bed unharmed.  _A wretched nightmare._ Breathing a sigh of relief at the nightmare, more realistic than he’s ever had in the past, Viktor drags thin fingers against his face, feeling slick sweat and tight skin against his fingertips…

 

Tighter than it’s been for years.

 

With fingers too thin for his age.

 

He holds up his hands in front of his face, fingers shaking as soon as he sees the unblemished, almost feminine delicacy of his hands.  Scrambling to sit, Viktor’s hair swishes to rest against his cheeks.  And he pauses.  Even without a mirror to show him, he knows by the fall of his hair, slithering on his back and shoulders, that it is way past the length he’s been using for more than a decade.  That his body is lighter, much lighter, than it’s been for even a longer time than the hair.

 

He swivels his head to the side, looking towards the closet he vaguely remembers having mirror doors and swallows the dread as his eyes widen in disbelief.

 

There, staring straight at him from the mirror’s surface, is his young self in all his long-haired, lithe glory impossibly sitting in his childhood room.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> So some technicalities. I'm going to set this fic in sorta real time and I'm assuming the anime is in the 2015-2016ish.
> 
> apologies for the shit title and summary. unbeta'd. I swear I don't have time or enough practice to jump into this fandom BUT JESUS CHRIST MY FEELINGS NEED SOME RELIEF. I HAVE LIKE 3 DIFFERENT STARTED FICS FOR THIS TRASHBIN AND god . h elp me
> 
> [is2g i will be so depressed if episode 7 is played off as a hug in canon >:( ]


End file.
